Through Heaven and Hell
by waititout
Summary: Jack Skellington was once a human, with flesh such as us. The story of how he came to be who is today, and the struggles he faced along the way.
1. Prologue

_The Celts celebrate their new year on November 1. This day marks the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter. This time of year is often associated with human death. Some Celts believe that on the night before the New Year, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead becomes blurred. On the night of October 31 they hold a festival, Samhain, when the ghosts of the dead return to earth._

This is not a scary time for all. Yes, there are the skeptics and there are those who are simply too scared to leave their homes. For those willing to believe and for those who enjoy a good scare, however, this is an enchanted time. The opportunity to communicate with a spirit of one gone is too great a temptation to turn down.

You must understand something. Though I am the bringer of plague and the sole reason breath leaves the body, I am not without feeling. My life, if that is what you can call it, has only one purpose: to take away that which instinct clings to. Samhain is a retreat for my mind, a holiday for the bloody hands I bear. I bring back what I once took away, if only for one night. This is enough for me to carry out that which I am named for, Death, for every other sun and moon.

Ah, but the dead do not return without great sacrifice, you see. I cannot have an evening without my fulfilling my mecca, no matter if I wish it so or not. The flesh of an innocent man must be consumed by the flame in which the spirits appear. Surely the death of one man is a small price to pay for precious moments with those who are with Ambisagrus or Dispater now.

It is a gift what I bring back. The Celts understand this, and abide by the laws of which it works by. In merely weeks it will mark a century since this joyous occasion began. Excuse me then, child. I have spirits to make.


	2. Chapter 1

He had been through more in his seventeen years of life than most men see in a lifetime. He wished that he could say that with these trials had come great knowledge of how to lead a life of purpose, of strength. Wished was exactly the word, as it was not the case.

He stared in the mirror that he held tightly in his hand. The handle was long and made of silver, its detailing feminine and, in only something females could upkeep, polished to a prismatic shine. The owner had been just what the mirror exuded. Filled with unbearable memories of his mother, he threw the mirror against the wall.

Such a waste of resources, Jack thought bitterly as he stared at the remnants on the wooden floor. The time spent saving for the mere trinket had been long and exhausting. He recalled the months of labor his father had endured, saving every penny that didn't have a dire need. It was all for nothing.

She had had the mirror for 12 days. Such a fast death, such a tragedy. How could she have known the mirror was pointless? Plague was not a disease to give victims warning, and his mother had been no exception. He ran his hand through tousled locks of black and made a noise that could be perceived as a laugh. She'd have killed him if she'd been there to see the mirror in pieces.

She wasn't, nor was his father or the three brothers he shared countless memories with. He wished he hadn't survived. He wished they had not gone in the first place. Wished was a word he was becoming too familiar with.

He'd been alone for weeks, months if he had the mind for time anymore. It was easy on the outskirts of the village to forget and to be forgotten by all. He could no longer recall the feeling of a warm embrace or the sound of joyful laughter. He did not know if he cared for it.

The last thing he needed was the sympathy of strangers. That was all the village was. They had not been affected by the cold air of death. They had not had to bury five bodies alone in the acrid of winter. Jack's stomach churned with the thought and with the pang of hunger. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Grabbing his father's hunting knife, he clutched it in his hand. If he was lucky he could find meat of some sort. Most likely it would be berries and anything he could find in the garden down from his house.

He stood straight and winced. He didn't move enough anymore, due to his isolation. He moved leisurely out of the house and toward the wooded glen in the distance. He thought of each step as he took it, unsure whether his knees would decide to give out. Jack was a tall fellow, the height and a half of some women he'd come across. His legs longed to run, to stretch, but he didn't have the strength.

A deer selected a leaf with careful thought, finally chewing on the one she thought best. Jack caught sight and stopped. When was the last time he had seen a deer? Ages ago it seemed, when an overpopulation of townsmen hadn't killed every one of them in sight. He looked down at the knife in his hand and cursed under his breath. Surely he couldn't approach the deer without spooking it, and without the throw being precise, he'd only injure it. He sighed. He wouldn't have the stamina to catch it even if the blade managed to strike.

He loosened his clutch on the blade, turning to find something more his pace. He heard an inhuman cry and turned back to see an arrow pierce the deer he had longed to have for himself. His eyes widened and he looked around for the bearer of the bow. He started approaching, cautiously at first and then with longer strides. He reached it before the other and stared at the arrow sticking out the eye of the deer. A perfect shot.

"Ah, ah, ah. My bow. My arrow. My kill." To his surprise it was a female's voice that came from the bushes. She emerged then, bow slung behind her with a couple of arrows to spare. She was clad in all brown, complete with a pair of well-made boots. Her eyes were the color of the trees she had just been in, and her shoulder-length hair the color they were in the fall. She pulled the arrow out and was satisfied when it remained in tact. She took a rag from her pocket and cleaned it of the blood which stained it.

Jack took his time to study her. She was not preoccupied with worrying about him taking the deer, nor did she mind having an audience to her kill. "I'm assuming you're the Kellington that no one has seen in ages. Many thought you dead, you know." She hummed as she broke down the deer, aware of her strength and ability to only carry what she could.

He said nothing but knelt across her and began to help. He had done this a few times before and felt capable. She stopped and looked at him, his hands bony and just a bit shaky. He hadn't asked her if she had needed help, which she could have gone without, but it was nice to see. "I don't know why I wandered this far off where I usually hunt, but I had a feeling I'd find something special." She placed the pieces of meat in cloth she kept in the bag at her side. A good half of the deer had disappeared into her bag and she stood. "Thank you…?" She didn't know his name.

"Jack." He said in instant reply. She merely nodded and looked down at the deer. "I don't have the time or the muscle to come for the rest of it." She said matter-of-factly. "I suppose if you were to take some that would be all right. It will be our secret." She swiped her finger over her lips and grinned a childish smile.

"I'll help you carry the rest. It is your kill, after all. I would not have any place taking meat from you and the mouths you feed." He took his shirt and covered the remaining of the bloody deer, swinging the legs over his shoulders. Her first instinct was to blush, but she cleared her throat and put that thought away. "Suit yourself." She didn't order him to follow but began to walk.

It was a thirty minute journey on foot to the center of the town, where this girl presided. It dawned on him halfway through their trip that he had no idea her name or anything about her, yet he was following her to a town he despised. Perhaps it was that easy smile or the fact that she had not said a word about his family. Either way he was content in her company.

The whispering began as soon as they got to the edge of the town. Jack cringed when he heard his father's name, but kept walking. He could not stop nor did he want to. He had nothing to say to any of them. He had no desire to satisfy any of their curiosity.

She whistled when she got outside her home, before dropping the bag that she had carried craftily to the ground. A man who looked to be in his fifties slowly emerged from the house. He was hunched over and walked with the aid of a cane. It was not a friendly look he held on his face. He seemed disappointed with the girl and his eyes grew angry. "How do you expect me to sell something you have already broken down?" He grabbed her bag and all but ripped it open, looking at the contents. "And I am expecting we get the rest of the deer as well?" His eyes looked at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and stubbornness. He wasn't going to let his daughter give away such a hefty animal to some… stranger.

"We do. Jack was nice enough to carry it for us, father." She made light of the situation and walked over to Jack, helping as he removed the deer from his shoulders. She took Jack's shirt that had been draped on the animal, and gave it back to him. It was covered with blood and other quite revolting liquids, but he took it anyway. He grasped it in his hands, nervous.

Her father merely huffed and turned back to the house, leaving the deer and the bag for his daughter to take care of. "Well, I think this is my turn to go." Jack said and walked as quick as he could back to his home. He could not take any more of the glances from anyone and he did not want to have another episode with the man she called her father.

He had not gotten far into the woods when a hand came on his shoulder. He startled and almost fell. When he turned he was glad to see it was her again, with a chunk of cloth-wrapped meat in her hands. "Here." She pushed it into his hands before he could object. "You need a meal. This will provide you with more than one." She nodded, looking over her shoulder to make sure she was not followed. "Take care, alright? It can be hard being alone." With that she rose on her feet and kissed his pale cheek and then ran as though her life depended on it.

He looked down at the pile of meat in his hands and began to laugh, a genuine hearty laugh. He could not remember the last time where he had felt such joy, such pleasure in having something to fill his stomach. He took his hand up to the cheek that still blushed red from where her lips had been. With that, Jack turned and began the journey back home.


End file.
